The Three Beginnings
by An.Arcane.Hamartia
Summary: Same story, three different beginnings with no ending.  Because of an English project. Not specifically X-Men, but describes one version of my non-canon character Riley, who's in most of my X-Men stories.


**Setting Beginning**

The rainbow palette of lights flashed epileptically over the seamless crowd of sweaty bodies, all of which were moving to the beat of the pumping base. The over-sized speakers pounded with remixed versions of top 40 playlists, and the mirrors which covered most of the walls in there created a sense of endlessness; endless night, endless fun, and endless amounts of alcohol, though all of these would have been ridiculous to think true.

This was _The Spot_, literally and figuratively. That was the name given narcissistically to what was now the most popular night club in Manhattan. The long line outside, and lack of room to move inside night in and night out seemed to prove that fact to everyone, and only encouraged _longer_ lines, and _more_ crowding. It was popular for good reason, though. They ensured to play only the best music, as decided by the stereotyped population of the States; it had the most pulchritudinous and gifted dancer in the city, Alexia DuPris; but most importantly, as far as business went, there was a bartender who could do tricks with a bottle which rivaled the skills of the greatly talented, and greatly unknown Christian Delpech. At _The Spot_, his name was Riley Bond, and a large portion of the crowd here had come solely because of his famous drink of which's recipe was a safely guarded secret. Seeing as it was known only to him, though, 'safely guarded' was a given.

That Saturday evening, it was packed like a can of sardines, and already the night was slowly creeping itself back into unwanted day; the result of this being that the majority of people had already drunk themselves under the table. It was easy to tell which the happy drunks were, and which were the ones who got the steroid effect: a sense of invincibility, and a temper. The latter of the two visibly outweighed the former this night, and even the dull security guys who stood around could sense this, shifting uncomfortably as they just waited for a fight to break-out, not having the sense to stop something before it happened.

Breaking the crowd's subconsciously worked out pattern, a kid tried to weave his way through the crowd of people who easily had 3 or 4 years on him. He must have bumped someone the wrong way, or maybe just glanced at someone funny, but in any case, it was just the catalyst the crowd needed to set off the ticking time bomb that had been planted with the brilliance of alcohol.

* * *

**Character Beginning**

Riley's hair had been styled to messy perfection; bed head with gel, but hey, it looked great. His wisps of brown hair, about the colour of coffee taken black, contrasted ever-so exquisitely with his pale skin. Whether that paleness was natural, or due to the fact he spent most of his time inside went unknown and unconsidered. Riley's 5-o'clock shadow outline of facial hair of course only added to the undefined contrast between completely out-of-place, and everything being carefully put-together. His jaw line was flawless, and the rest of his facial structure had elaborately been said to have been hand-carved by gods. Ri could only scoff at that and suggest with sarcasm that maybe everyone else had just been dropped on their faces on the way down from said 'gods'.

But still it wasn't these features which drew almost every woman in; instead, it was, unoriginally, his eyes. They were the colour of obsidian, blacker than night, and held within them the unspoken, and seemingly interesting mystery of his past. Thankfully for Ri, the majority of the time, the flashing, random, excessive stream of lights within the popular night club created shadows across his face, and could hide all of these supposed secrets that his eyes contained.

As he worked behind the bar, flipping, spinning, and practically dancing with the bottles of alcohol and cocktail shakers, he poured precisely measured and perfectly executed drinks for the paying, and tipping (both, Riley noted, with money and their balance) customers across from him. Many of them were women, all of whom oo'ed and awe'd as they flirted mercilessly, both soberly and intoxicatedly, with him. To no end. But none of their gestures were ever returned, and they never got anything more than a quick, fleeting glance. Which you can imagine, made those desperate people swoon with even more vigour.

Most of the time, while he still served the eyelash-batting customers, Ri's eyes watched Alexia. She was the main dancer at _The Spot_. Not only was she drop-dead gorgeous and where Riley (along with _many_ other men) rested his sore eyes, but she was a dear friend of his. While Alexia was about the only one he believed he could trust, Riley knew her desires mirrored those of the women he so pointedly ignored.

When suddenly, and quite out of nowhere, a kid visibly under 21 pulled up a stool, Riley didn't even ask before he merely gave said kid a glass of water. He wasn't paid to play security guard and kick him out, but there was no reason for Riley to go breaking the unnecessarily strict American laws, either.

"What, the alcohol content not high enough for you?" Riley said with evident boredom and sarcasm as the kid sipped at the water, yet wore a zombie-esque look.

The kid, Caleb, was either purposely ignoring Ri's dry words, or was as distracted as he seemed; but as soon as the glass had been emptied, he set it down, and without making eye-contact, stood to leave.

* * *

**Action Beginning**

Fists flew from, the expected cliché; every which way. Yet it was true, especially considering the ones throwing them had lost their ability to aim entirely. Despite that fact, the punches were dangerous, because they packed the power of the inebriated owners of these fists.

In the midst of this chaos, Caleb was in a panic. Even though he was likely the only one who was sober, Cal'd entirely lost his sense of direction due to the fact that the night club had turned into a furious, raging mosh-pit. So, while Caleb's brain was running and in search of sense, his body moved automatically and out of the well-known human-instinct.

Security guards, none of which were so sharp and would only later realize this whole conflict _could_ have been avoided, rushed in, all brawn. With relative ease, they were slowly able to start pulling the worst of the brawlers out, and threw them like fish at the Pike Place Market, outside and out of the way; for now, until the inevitable would happen and the fight would just move out onto the street.

Meanwhile, still inside, Caleb twisted and turned, throwing his own punches and kicks wherever they would go as he felt several great blows connect with his own depressingly-under-sized body. As a grasp could be felt taking hold of the back of his shirt, the kid turned his attention swiftly to his newest perceived attacker. In all of his livid, maniacal movements, Caleb succeeded in accomplishing absolutely nothing.

Then within what seemed an either skipped, or forcibly and painfully-pumped heartbeat; cold pavement and Caleb's butt quickly became friends. But his ears were no longer ringing, and he realized as he cautiously opened his eyes, that who he'd thought to just be another rampant drunk, was in fact his 'saviour'.

The bartender from only a few short minutes ago stood above him, and an eyebrow rose briskly as he looked down at the still panic-stricken kid. He'd dragged the kid out of the fight, not done without its difficulty because of the extreme flailing about, and brought him out a back, staff door, where they were now alone and out of the moronic pandemonium.

Caleb was still cut and bruised in an undefined amount of places, but Riley had protected him from the worse events which would have subsequently come with the geniuses ruling the fight which was still going strong inside.


End file.
